


A Jumper for Your Heart

by wordslikelightning



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, John's Jumpers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-04
Updated: 2013-07-04
Packaged: 2017-12-17 15:19:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/869013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordslikelightning/pseuds/wordslikelightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt Fill: “Sherlock tries to admit it….”<br/>Which turned out to be Sherlock nicking John's jumpers to cuddle with and having to explain why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Jumper for Your Heart

That was the absolute last straw. John had had enough. He was completely done. With those thoughts spinning in his head, he stormed into the sitting room with fire in his eyes.   
  
This was the third time this week he had woken up to find that the jumper he had worn the day before had sprouted legs and wandered off. He just knew Sherlock was behind it somehow.  
  
He was completely prepared to start ranting at the dark haired man, but he wasn’t there. He wasn’t in the kitchen, or at the table experimenting and John’s computer was even on the coffee table. John checked the bathroom, which turned up nothing once more.  
  
His anger was turning to concern as he stepped up to the door of the detective’s bedroom. Sherlock was hardly ever stayed in his room past sunrise, if he even managed to make it there in the first place. The handful of times John had found him there, Sherlock had been ill due to malnutrition, overwork, exhaustion and lord knows what else. The only reason he had been tucked into bed was due to John himself putting him there.  
  
Hearing no sound on the other side, John cautiously opened the door, not wanting to wake the dark haired man if he had managed to fall asleep.  
  
What John saw though, was a different matter altogether.  
  
Instead of the usual lump of blankets with a dark mop of hair barely visible, Sherlock was curled on top of the covers in his blue dressing down, bare feet poking from the hem and his face buried in the oatmeal colored fabric of John’s favorite jumper.  
  
Anger quite forgotten and completely perplexed by the sight, the doctor took in the scene in front of him for a solid 2 minutes. He decided that backing out of the room and asking Sherlock about it later would be the best course of action. He needed time to process and he knew how hard it was for the clever man to fall asleep.  
  
…  
  
Later, Sherlock shuffled out of his room clutching his robe around him tightly, eyes hardly open. John looked up from his book to watch the progress to the couch, flopping down on it. John closed the book and set it aside in order to focus all of his attention on his flatmate.  
  
“Have a good sleep?” John asked in order to gauge how awake Sherlock was and judging by the half hearted grunt he received, not very. The doctor realized he wasn’t going to get much out of him in such a state. Time to bring in the tea.   
  
John held the steaming mug under Sherlock’s nose and brought a hand up to wrap it around the warm ceramic.   
  
By the time the tea was half gone, the consulting detective had propped himself up against the arm of the sofa. He brought his knees tightly to his chest, stared off into the middle distance and worming his toes between the cushions. The fog of sleep that had hung low in his eyes had cleared mostly, so John thought he had better just get down to business.  
  
“Sherlock?”  
  
“Yes, John?” He kept his eyes on his tea while he responded.  
  
“Is there any particular reason you were cuddling my jumper while you slept?” To the untrained eye, Sherlock didn’t react, but John saw the absence of blinking and the stiffness in his shoulders. The lack of response was a huge blinking sign to the army doctor. “I’m not mad, or whatever you are thinking, Sherlock. But it has happened several times this week alone.” His words were not calming his flatmate down whatsoever. John stood and resettled next to him on the sofa, and carefully watched his face. “Is something wrong?”  
  
Sherlock slowly lowered his mug to the table, curling further into himself. He clearly did not want to share whatever it was. Waiting him out seemed to be the best option.  
  
A few moments later, Sherlock murmured something against the fabric on inside of his arm. “Excuse me?”  
  
Sherlock let out a world-weary sigh. “I said, it helps me sleep.” An unexpected answer, but one that could be dealt with.  
  
“Alright, and why might that be.”  
  
“Because… it smells of you.”  
  
John pursed his lips, “I suppose it would, but I am still not sure why-”  
  
“Because,” he interupted exasperatedly, “you, and by extension your jumpers, calm my mind and allow me to sleep.” John still looked lost as for how that was an explanation. “Do you honestly still not get it? John, you calm me down because I find your presence soothing. I find you soothing because I enjoy being around you.”  
  
“You like me?” The doctor was surprised at the soft tone in his voice. Evidently it was enough to give Sherlock pause as well.  
  
He looked at his friend incredulously. “Of course I like you, John, don’t be an idiot. Why would I keep you around if I didn’t?”  
  
“Sherlock, you like me?”  
  
“Oh, well… yes. Yes, I do.”  
  
John couldn’t have stopped the smile that spread across his face if he tried.  
  
“If that’s the case,” John said thoughtfully, “we might be able to have an arrangement that does not require you to nick my  jumpers.”  
  
Sherlock tilted his head to the side in interest.  
  
“What if,” he started slowly, “Sherlock, what if we shared a bed? Surely it would be better then a jumper, yeah?”  
  
Sherlock spoke after a beat, and when he did, his voice was soft and grateful. “That would be quite acceptable, John.”  
  
With that settled, John wrested his arm along the back of the sofa and his hand nudged the other man’s shoulder in invitation. After a moment’s hesitation, Sherlock slid forward and curled into the warmth of John’s side and pillowed his head of messy curls on the blond’s chest. John brought his arm around the other’s shoulders, picked his book from the side table, found his place and started reading again.  
  
He hadn’t expected to find out his flatmate had feeling for him, when he barely spared them for anything, but it was by no means unwelcome.  
  
Sherlock let out a contented sigh and John thought this could be a good thing for the both of them in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!  
> I don't own anything, I just like to play here. The writers and creators get all the credit for making such wonderful places and characters.  
> Most works are not beta read. All mistakes are my own. [If anyone would be interested in betaing for me, shoot me a note somewhere!]  
> I can be found at theseeyesofmine or wordslikelightning on Tumblr if anyone is interested.


End file.
